On Pointe
by BlondeBraid
Summary: His life was crooked. Her legs were crooked. Modern Day AU.
1. Chapter 1

Hello! How are you? good I hope. This is a modern day AU story. In this story, Katniss is a well-trained (well taken care of) dancer and Peeta lives a hard life in a bad neighborhood with his drug-addicted mother who sells her self to feed her drug. She gives no care to her children. So, he is forced to take care of his younger brother, Rye. It seems switched, and it is a bit, but their backgrounds are different. SO...its not really a switch lives thing.

Alright, enough with me.

ENJOY! review please!

–

He ran across the lawn, the old mans spew of curses following him, the jangle of his bottle. The familiar sirens echoed through the poor neighborhood, causing neighbors to turn on their lights in the middle of the night to see whats the ruckus. More some ignore it, knowing its Mellark.

When he gets to a far enough distance, he stops. His braces his hands on his knees, taking in air, to cease his labored breath. His lungs let out a cough or two in protest as he begins his journey furthermore.

When he makes it to the back alley, he walks up to the beaten door, nearly of his hinges – like the owner of the apartment. He knocks rapidly, checking the alley both ways so he isn't seen. I mean, everyone would question why an eighteen – year – old boy would be stopping in on old Haymitch in the middle of the night.

The old man opens the door with a frown on his face – obviously irritated.

"What'da want, boy?" He questions. Haymitch knows why Peeta's there. He just usually asks for the amusement of the flustered Peeta. He understands why Peeta is doing this, usually dropping hints to him to stop, but its never gets caught on. When the first night Peeta came knocking at his door, he was merely fifteen. He looked lost, clutching a piece of notebook paper in his pale fist, exclaiming that his _friend _sent him. Haymitch took pity on the boy, and give him what he wanted.

Peeta scoffs, "You know exactly what I want Haymitch," Haymitch nods and puts up his index finger as if saying, _one second. _Haymitch disappears into his house. Peeta can hear the familiar sounds of an irritated Haymitch, the pounding of pots, and the breaking of glass.

Haymitch appears out of no where, handing the cheap bottle of alcohol. Peeta snatches it hurriedly, putting it in his coat. Haymitch gestures with his fingers to hand over what he gets in the deal. Peeta sighs and digs into his old jeans pocket and takes a crumpled dollars and puts it in Haymitchs awaiting hand.

Haymitch stares at the money and snorts, "Boy, I thought we had a deal, cheap for the good," he says pointedly.

Peeta stares wide-eyed at him for a moment before clearing his throat, "I only found money in the house, no alcohol. So I took the money,"

Haymitch nods, and stares right in Peeta's blue orbs, "Not again,"

Which they both know is a lie.

Peeta scurries back to where he is from hurriedly, looking around once or twice. When he reaches the tin roof, cracked window, broken downed house, he goes in silently. When he closes the door, the creak of the rusted hinges stops his mother from what she's doing. Her eyes goes wide and she stuffs the drug in her bra, and clears her throat.

"Where were you?" she asks, hoarsely.

Peeta's eyes narrow at his mother, "I was getting notes for school," he lies smoothly.

His mother nods, her eyes drifting to the side door, "Well," she coughs, "Why don't you go to bed?" she tells him. He nods, and walks to the door that's missing a handle, and goes inside.

When he enters the room, he peeps through the little cut out hole he made when he was eight years old, wanting to see what his mother was doing late at night, why it smelled. He stares through it and sees how his mother check to see if he's in, and digs through her bra and takes out the drug, and resumes. Peeta sighs and turns his back to the door. Instead, he focuses on his younger brother, Rye. Rye, only the mere age of ten, already experiencing problems with his family. Every since Dad died.

Peeta recalls the memory.

_Peeta picks up a young seven – year – old Rye from school. Rye smiles up at his brother. _

"_Are we going to the wall today?" the innocent boy asks. The wall is an underground railroad that was abandoned within the years due to no use of it. Young artists and just the young crowd go down there to meet, smoke, drink and paint. With the occasional inhale. Highly illegal. Peeta took Rye there last night since their father wasn't home, at the bakery trying to make money for the family, and who knows were their mother was. Peeta looks down to his brothers form and shakes his head, "You are never going back, bro," Peeta says. Rye frowns, but doesn't question further. Peeta's relieved. _

_They make their way across the school yard, Rye kicking stones and Peeta listening to an old – barely working – scratchy pink Ipod Shuffle that his father was lucky enough to find in a pawn shop for fifty dollars. _

_Once they reach home, they shed their school clothes and backpack. "Rye get'cha homework done, okay?" Rye nods and takes out the crumbled math sheet with a few adding and subtracting problems. Rye looks up at his brother, "Peet, would you help?" Peeta nods and sits down next to his brother. He was in the process of showing him how to carry the one when there is a pounding on the door. Peeta shoots out of his seat and grabs the hidden stake knife under the cushion seat, thinking its one of his mother's _friends_. _

"_We don't have the money, she isn't even here!" Peeta yells through the door, peeking around the front windows to see who's causing the knocking._

"_Its me! Thom! Quick!" Thom exclaims. _Thom? Why would he be here? _Peeta asks himself. __Thom is the neighborhood watch man. He only does it because he knows how bad the neighborhood can get, and has daughters. _

_Peeta opens the door, and looks at Thom questioningly, "Thom? What are you –" He loses his thought when Thom utters the word out of breath,"Wheaton," _

Peeta comes back to his memory when he hears voices outside his and his brothers room. He hears a male voice, and his mothers hoarse – from – drugs voice. He looks through the peep hole.

"You ready?" a gruff voice asks. He hears some shuffling and then a sigh.

"Yes," his mother says, "But, let me tell them I'm leaving," the man must nod because his mother proceeds to their bedroom door. Peeta quickly plops down on the bed, which jostles Rye, resulting into him waking up.

"Wha – " Rye questions, rubbing his sleepy eyes, but is cut off by the door opening.

Their mother clears her throat, "Boys, I'm going to be out tonight, don't expect me." Peeta only narrows his eyes at the woman, his mother, who is dressed in a short pink dress – looking more like a nightgown, with red lips and made up hair.

Rye whimpers, "Mommy," he pleads, running up to their mother and clutching her waist. "Don't leave _again,"_ Peeta's eyes narrow more as the word sticks out._ Again. _

Their mother pats down Rye's unruly mess of curls awkwardly and kisses his forehead, with no love at all – leaving a red lip mark. "I have to," she says. When they hear the male voice clear his throat, obviously indicating to hurry up, Rye doesn't relent.

Their mother sighs, "Come on," she says to Rye, irritated. When he doesn't relent _again, _she doesn't hesitant. The smack of a palm hitting the smooth surface of Rye cheek radiates through the room. Their mother roughly pulls Rye off of her, and clutches his head roughly so her blue eyes meet his. Peeta gets up off the bed to intervene, when his mother spins Rye around, in a head lock, with her hand posed to smack him. A clear warning.

She pushes Rye off of her, and says with disgust dripping from her words, "I'm leaving, I won't be back for awhile, don't expect me," And with that she leaves with the familiar click of her heels. Rye bursts into tears, holding onto his cheek. Peeta runs and picks up his younger brother and holds him to his chest.

"I won't _ever_ let that monster touch you again," he tells him.

Rye only nods.

–

Katniss lifts her leg up to her head and holds it there. She looks over at her mother for approval.

The woman gets up and stalks over to the young lady. She pinches her back, "Posture," she reminds harshly.

Katniss straightens and lets out a breath.

Her mother comes around and grabs her leg with force, Katniss winces, "This is straight," she says and then crooks Katniss' leg, "This is not straight, learn the difference." Katniss only nods and stretches her leg even further, ignoring the searing pain of her muscles.

"If you don't do this right Katniss, you won't win!" Her mother screeches. Katniss' mom sits down in the stiff chair – just like her – and plays back the music.

"Again."

Katniss runs the dance again, gracefully letting out her limbs, softly twirling her hips in a spin, all the while keeping a smile plastered on her face.

She turns away from the mirror, and her mother to do a tendu, when she see's it.

A young male, around eighteen – years – old stares through the small window on the back wall. He's curly blonde, the occasional curls falling into his eyes – his _eyes._

His eyes are shining and twinkling, the definition of beautiful. They are like two little oceans, expressing the beauty of the pull and back motion it makes. It is just simply, beautiful.

She notices the half drunken bottle of liquor in his hand as he stares through the window, the small tattoo written on his wrist, and one on his forearm, but he's to far away to read what it says.

She barely hears the screeching of her mother she's so captivated.

"Hey you! Hey stop it!" her mother screams.

The boys eyes drift over to her mothers and she runs outside with a broom. He looks back once more at Katniss before running away, bottle of liquor in hand.

Her mother comes back in, sighing heavily. She points her lean finger at Katniss.

"Don't ever get involved in one of those boys, you hear me?" she tells her, almost threateningly.

Katniss only nods.

–

The sound of a bottle smacking against the pristine wood makes Haymitch wake from his nap.

"Do ya mind, girlie?" Haymitch grumbles at Effie.

Effie only rolls her eyes and flips her bottle – blonde hair over her shoulder. "Someone – a kid nonetheless – Is at your door," she tells him before plumping down on one of the chairs surrounding the table Haymitch was inhabiting, and picks up a vogue magazine. Haymitch growls in annoyance, before getting up and making his way to the door.

He opens the door and is met with the one and only, Peeta Mellark.

"What can I do ya, son, haven't I already given ya supply?" Haymitch questions, taking a gulp of the golden liquid. Peeta looks longingly at the bottle.

He looks a bit dazed, pretty out of it. His hair is messed up, sticking up in odd angles. He looks like he has been rolling in dirt. His eyes out of focus. A burst of emotion flows through him, _concern._

"You didn't smoke anything did ya boy?" Haymitch sighs. Peeta shakes his head, but smiles a bit off the rocker.

"Nope," Peeta says. Then he starts laughing, uncontrollably. His whole body shakes to the movement of his bellows. He wipes away some tears that have escaped his eyes. Haymitch looks at him with a raised eyebrow in question. _He is very drunk._

He finally composes himself, "I got chased by some woman by a broom though," he chuckles some more.

"Why?" Haymitch asks with a sigh. This is wasting some nice drinking time.

"I was staring at her daughter," he says with a smile. "I couldn't stop though, she was beautiful. Long dark hair in a bun on top of her head, with a nice little bow. Eyes as gray as steel. Legs long – I mean she was a ballerina – but still beautiful. Her cupid bow lips, perfectly kissable. Smooth curves. She was just beautiful." Peeta says, a wistful look on his face.

Haymitch now laughs, "Boy, you've gone soft."

Peeta's face hardens, "Just gimme a drink Haymitch, and I need to stay over, mom might come home so Rye's at a friends."

"Whatever you say, boy," Haymitch sighs, going into his house. When he realizes that Peeta isn't following, he turns back to him.

"You coming?" He questions.

Peeta only nods.

–

Review! Have a nice day! stop by again! :D


	2. Chapter 2

Hello! sorry this was late, I meant to get this yesterday but I was so busy! thank you for the reviews and favorites! and, sorry its so short. I just had writers block because I don't want to progress their relationship so quickly. Also, Five Years Of Love chapter tonight, late or probably in the next hour or so, so check that out!

REVIEW!

Enjoy!

* * *

The cold metal flask was comforting to his warm hand. The brash liquid burned down his throat, making him sputter. The large gulps making him cough and choke. When he hears the door of the boys bathroom door open, he knows he must go back. He sighs as he caps the flask and stuffs it in his pants. He digs in his pocket and grabs a mint, to take the smell of liquor on his breath. He opens the stall door and descends his way back to his classroom. When he opens the door that reads: _Ms. Seeder _all eyes are on him. The sound of his boots footsteps are like knives in the eerily silent room.

"Why did you take so long?" Ms Seeder asks, her eyes filled with pity. Every one of his teachers know of his situation. Some simply don't care and say "_That's at home, this is school," _others like Ms. Seeder do care and try to help.

_Try_ the key word.

He doesn't care what the teachers say, or try to enforce. _"We can help you," _he only laughs.

No one can help him, no one can help his mother, and no one can help his brother without getting a social worker involved. Peeta already has it planned. He's eighteen, once he leaves school he will get another job that goes from the hours of school time and try to get custody of his younger brother. Its a pretty decent plan to him.

"Long line," Peeta mutters, flopping down into his chair. The eyes drift back to Ms. Seeder, expect one pair.

The eyes are new to the school, wide and trying to take in everything. The steel gray orbs looking at him, trying to decide a first impression. He knows these eyes.

_Ballerina. _

Her hair today is down her back in a braid, instead of the thick bun that rested upon her head the other day. She fashions a long - sleeved dark green shirt, and blue jeans that are stuffed in brown boots. Nothing like a ballerina. Her face isn't caked with different colors of eyeshadow and eye liner, or sticky lip color. It isn't adorned with blush or bronzer. Its clean, its _beautiful._

He can't help but stare at her, she really is _beautiful._

As if she can read his thoughts, she looks away with a tinge of blush on her olive cheeks. Her eyes never reach his for the remainder of the class.

–

Today's lunch in the cafeteria is macaroni and cheese that sticks to the cardboard trays out of its greasiness. Katniss watches at the lunch-lady takes the big spoon and sets a nice glop of macaroni and cheese on her tray. Katniss smiles nicely.

Since being the new student, she looks lost as she tries to find a table to sit at. Her eyes roam the tables, each one of them filled – except one.

She plants herself down on the seat with a sigh. Today has been tiring. It's her first day in this school, since she travels for her dancing. She didn't know what to expect with the rundown school with its padlock on the gate broken. Her mom said it would be a good experience – she can capture the emotion from the school into her dances – Katniss only rolled her gray eyes. The only thing good about today was seeing Blondie. He looked horrible coming in the classroom from the bathroom. His hair was askew, his eyes a bit dazed, little indented red lines over his lips - showing he has been drinking from a flask. She was surprised Ms. Seeder didn't say anything, she obviously noticed it. She only sighed like she was accustomed to this behavior.

She's so deep in her thoughts she doesn't noticed the blonde sitting in front of her. The girl – blonde girl sits with a book on the table. Her head is down, furiously reading. On the side sits her tray with half eaten macaroni and cheese and a little milk carton opened and drank.

Katniss lightly coughs, which gets her attention. She looks up revealing her face. Her eyes are blue, not the blue of Blondie's but baby blue opposed to his dark. Her cheeks a bit red, of blush she doesn't know. Her nose not to big or to small, Her lips plump. She was pretty.

She smiles, "Hi, I usually sit here, so um – I'm Madge," she tells her. Katniss nods, "Katniss." Madge smiles and looks back down at book and continues reading. Katniss concludes this is the end of the conversation.

–

Peeta gets Rye his lunch, leaving him with none.

"Peeta, where is your lunch?" Rye asks. Peeta shakes his head and looks down at the boy, "It doesn't matter, eat yours." he sits down at the table inhabiting ten – year – olds. None of them pay mind to the eighteen year old sitting with them. Peeta puts his bag on the table and takes out a lone bag of skittles. Rye gets excited.

"You got them!" Rye says excitingly, grabing his napkin and spreading it out. Peeta smiles and opens the red bag, and revealing a orange skittle. He places it on the spork Rye put on the splayed out napkin. Peeta places the little candy on the spork, and violently hit the end, letting it fly in the air. It swiftly lands in his mouth, bursting with flavor. Rye claps.

They continue the game until all the skittles have been digested. Rye frowns and eats the now cold macaroni and cheese.

"Next time buddy," he tells his brother. Rye smiles and continues eating.

Peeta looks over his brothers small head and see's _Ballerina_, his excitement is clear when he looks down at his brother and tells him _I'll be back in a minute._

He gets up and walks around and hides behind the wall were the bathrooms rest. He stalks her like prey, staring at her as she eats. She must be deep in thought because a girl – he forgets her name – sits down and silently eats her lunch while reading a novel.

By the time she has finished introducing herself to Madge, Peeta comes and flops down.

"Hello, ladies," he smirks. Katniss just stares at him with wide eyes, apparently not being able to say anything.

"Hi, I'm Peeta," he says, reaching out a hand for her to shake. She wordlessly shakes his hand.

She coughs, "Katniss," she tells him, looking down at her plate. He smiles at her shyness, while taking the opportunity to admire her. Her braid was now down her shoulder, tiny wisps standing out. He notices the small things, her lashes are full and thick, her cheeks are probably always tinged pink. Her lips full. She really is beautiful.

"That's a beautiful name, Katniss," he tells her smiling. He looks over and sees his brother looking around for him. He takes it as a sign to go.

"Well, I have to go, enjoy your lunch," he says, getting out of the table and descending to his brother.

"Who were you talking to?" Rye asks Peeta when he comes into view.

"A girl I met," Peeta tells him, his eyes still on Katniss.

Rye nods.

–

UGH SO SHORT! Well, lets see how the Madge and Katniss friendship BLOSSOM! and I was going to do another set of Peeta and Katniss together..but I feel as though that's progressing it to quickly. Well anyway, hope you enjoy this! PLEASE REVIEWWWWW!


	3. Chapter 3

Hi, sorry it took so long! I wanted to get this out on Monday but I have recently learned NO UPDATES CAN HAPPEN EVER ON WEEKDAYS DUE TO ME BEING EXTREMELY BUSY :( ugh! but, have no fear ONE CAN COME ON MONDAY BECAUSE I HAVE NO SCHOOOOLLL! WOOHOO! and a Five Years Of Love chapter tomorrow or tonight of course :) Thank you all for the follows/favorites/ and most importantly REVIEWS! so please guys, keep reviewing it really is amazing to see someone actually take the time to review. Thanks again!

Alright, enough with me!

**ENJOY** and _REVIEW!_

* * *

_Buzz_. The sound of the fly's wings flapping, can be heard through out the room. He doesn't try to swat at it, leaving it to roam freely about the room. He doesn't swat it because its something real. That's all he wants, something real. Sure, the bed is real, his brother is real. But he want's something innocent, true, and free – like his brother. His mother isn't real. She is far from it with her made up pinned curls, only to come home with them lacking volume, flattened. The girls he tries to get to know, becoming more with them, they aren't real. They want a good time, not a commitment. And, they want to be _cool._ When they laugh at a joke that some idiot says, the little _he he_ coming from them isn't real. Peeta has come to the conclusion, the world isn't real.

His father was real, his father with the kind smile, always up for a game of catch or tag after his long hours of work. The crinkles by his eyes, showing how genuinely happy his little boy made him. The tears he shed when both of his boys were born. They tears were of happiness and of joy, also the way his mother wouldn't even acknowledge any of them.

His mother only thought of him as a waste of nine months of drugs. His father pleaded with her, begging almost for her to lay back for nine months so they can be healthy. He promised her more money from his paychecks, everything he could afford – she could have.

How, oh how would she ever let that go from her grasp?

So she let it be, was pregnant for nine months as his father tended to her every need. Leave at 4:00 in the morning, come home at 1:00, leaving a sliver of sleep for the next work day. Peeta always knew that his father never really loved his mother – tried to desperately, but he didn't. He stayed for his boys, it was always his boys.

Peeta's father got his mother pregnant at sixteen. She came to his door, weeping saying she had a human inside of her. He held to his chest, promising that he would be there for everything, would get another job. When they told his parents, they couldn't even look at him. Told him to collect his belongings and leave, or do something to fetus. So he packed, got another job and bought the house they used today cheap.

Peeta always knew his mother didn't love him, the way she would give him disgusted looks, the sneer that would always appear on her features. The way her dead cold blue hues followed him.

But most importantly it was the smacks, punches, and kicks. The bruises that would form on his grimy pale skin. The welts formed were covered by her cheap make-up just in case someone felt obligated to call the authorities. From time to time, he would go in the shower that only produced cold icy water, he would scrub himself senseless, trying to take off the touch of his mother's hands as it came in contact to his skin from the smack he received. Lord knows were her hands have been.

What broke Peeta the most was his father knowing. His father knew that she hit him, his father knew what she went to do when the red lipstick was spared for the night. He didn't do anything but frown, and return to the task at hand. He remembers as a young boy, receiving a blow to the head when he took his mothers lipstick. He swiveled the cap, the red paint coming up to the top. Her turned it upside down, let it fall to the ground in a heap of goop. He ended up putting in an old mason jar, planning to use it as paint. He hid under his bed. This young innocent Peeta was at the age when he wanted his mother to stop, and care for him. He watched his school-mates getting the peck on their foreheads when they were let off of school. He wanted his mother to go shopping for shoes with him, like the other children said they did the weekend. He felt embarrassed when he looked down at the size-to-big shoes he wore, they were his papa's as a boy. The only thing he got from his mother, was the back of her hand.

His agreed no boy should go through this, this pain he endured. A boy shouldn't watch as his father came home, a check of payment in his hand. His mother smiled, sashayed up to him, risen up to the tip of her toes and pecked his lips, a disturbing smile on her face. She snatched the check from his hands, looking it over before pecking his lips once again.

"I'll keep it safe," she told him.

They never saw that check again.

When they were eating their meal of stale bread, the bread his father could take home for dinner since it would be disposed anyway, and the meat he got from his other job at the butchers, his mother told them both she was expecting. Peeta smiled, excited to be an older brother, he thought of all the things he could teach the younger sibling. His father was so happy, talking a mile a minute about the plans they could make. It turned silent when they both looked that his mother, her lips were in a fine line, her eyes narrowed.

"I don't know if _we are_ keeping it," she told them firmly.

Peeta's fathers eyes saddened immediately, explaining how it would be good for Peeta to have someone, a sibling, to play with. Her argument was that he was eight, he was far to old for playing.

Peeta left the table and went into his room. He looked out the window, as he whispered his words to God.

"Can I have him? Please..I really would care for him. Make him safe or warm! I'll even take a sister, I get her ribbons from the thread shop for her hair, let her have my giraffe, you know him, Spotted?" he sighed and looked back out the sky. "Please..all I want is him or her..please," and with that, Peeta went under the scratchy sheets with spoiled stains on it, and fell into a deep sleep.

He never knew, his father standing there watching him. The tears falling down his cheeks. His father walked back to the living room, were he saw his wife going through his wallet, hungrily looking for cash to feed her drug addiction. Wheaton clears his throat, startling her into dropping the torn wallet on the floor.

He sighs, "I'll give you all of it, just don't – don't kill the baby," he says in a hoarse whisper, rubbing furiously at his eyes. She licks her lips, contemplating before nodding.

And by that, Rye was born. He was perfect with a fluff of blonde hair on top of his head, bright blue eyes that stared into each and every soul, ten fingers and ten toes. He was perfect. Peeta was so happy as he stared down at the little bundle in his father arms. He tickled his little fair nose, making Rye wrinkle his nose at the contact. Peeta laughs, before rubbing his little cheek soothingly. While they held the dozing off Rye, Wheaton looked across the room to were his wife was sitting, a disgusted look on her face. She coughed a bit, before settling down on the dusty mattress to slumber. She didn't want to hold the baby, or look at it. To her it was a distraction, some living organism.

But Peeta stayed up all night, watching the little child sleep peacefully. The flutter of his chest going up and then down, how his mouth was always slightly ajar. To him, this was the most beautiful thing in the world.

–

Peeta scuffed his shoe into the dirt, making a dent into the earth. He waited for his little brother to retreat from the school, so they could get home. When Rye finally emerged he was talking animatedly with his friends, his schoolbooks clutched to his chest. Rye finished the last of his conversation with a scrawny red – headed boy when he approached his brother. He smiled in a greeting, wordlessly molding his small hand into Peeta's large one.

They walked in silence, taking the gloomy sight of beer bottles and old newspapers as they sat littered across the street. The coal dust coated the litter like a blanket, making it even more dark.

They look at all the door's they pass, the one's that look even more beaten today, coated in fresh new marks and scratches. It reminds them of their door.

"Remind me to chop some wood later, I need to make us a new door," Rye nods, taking a mental note of his brother's request.

They cross a few streets, a few alleys and passage ways when they come across the path that will divide the richer from the poor. Peeta looks over to the other side when they follow down the other path, staring longingly at the bigger house which probably has hot water. He gazes over, and notices the dark braid swishing the air. The braid holds a blonde's hand, clutching it really. _Ballerina_.

The little girl looks about Rye's age. Instead of the dark hair, she inhabits blonde, much like the brothers. Her eyes were a crystal blue that held innocence and wonder. Her lips were full and pink, her frame slight. She wore a creamy complexion, with freckles dancing under her eyes. Nothing like _Ballerina_.

_Ballerina_ is talking to the little girl, smoothing down her fair braided hair when she bends down, and smiles at her. She kisses her forehead and stands back up. Her eyes meet his in the swarm of people, but when they meet, it seems as though they are the only one's present. She holds his gaze before ducking down, blushing. His eyes catch a small dandelion that sits lone in the tall grass. He plucks it carefully, looking at it questioningly. It's not spring yet.

He looks back over to Ballerina, seeing that she is still looking at him. He bends down and hands it over to Rye, who smiles and makes a wish upon its tiny petals.

Peeta reluctantly drops his eyes from her, and descends down the path with Rye in tow. They come upon their estate, and open the matching door. What Peeta see's makes his heart stop.

It's completely trashed. The windows broken, shattered to the last piece of glass that sticks up at the end, pretty much begging to cut someone. The curtains were beaten and ripped, the wooden chairs broken to the last bits, some pieces missing. The one sofa they could even afford the time before is gone. Most of the things were in coated in black char, obviously a fire was in the house.

Peeta runs their room, seeing that everything that once sat in the morning, gone or broken to the last pieces. Nothing but scraps. He hears a soft cry, and jogs back into the broken living room. He kneels down in front of his brother, and soothingly rubs down his hair, his thumbs wiping away his tears.

"Its alright," he whispers to his brother, kissing his forehead lovingly. That's when he notices the note clutched in his hand in a death grip. He pries it from his small fingers and reads his mother's familiar scrawl.

_I never liked you. Call the police, and they'll take little Rye away, you want that? No. So use ya dumb head, and just forget I existed. _

_I never wanted either of you. _

The words still play in his head as he and Rye descend upon the world. He hold's Rye close to his chest while Rye bawls into his neck.

"It's all my fault," Rye cries, telling Peeta. He digs his head into the crook of his neck, making his neck moist with is salty tears.

"I wished on the dandelion that she would stop! Now she's gone!" he cries harder, until his whimpers and falls under in exhaustion.

He stalks into the richer part of town, people pulling their curtains back and stare at him disgustingly. He ignores it, knowing he will always get this look. He comes upon the little dance studio he usually finds an excuse to always walk by. He notices the light illuminating the street from the inside. He finds her dancing her plie`, concentration evident on her face. She turns her head and notices him staring through the same exact window.

She looks at him, and notices the sleeping boy in his arms and begins to get worried. She runs back outside, coming down the little steps to them.

"Are you alright?" she asks, worry seeping through her words.

"Were fine, sorry for staring," he mutters before making his way down the road again. She runs and catches up to him, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. He visibly flinches, and she pulls her hand back.

"Shouldn't you be home?" she questions, looking at them again.

"I am trying to find a home, thank you." he tells her, annoyed. She stares at him, before clearing her throat when she realizes what he means.

"I'm sorry–" he immediately stops her with a hand covering her mouth. She doesn't move and stands there motionless. Her eyes wide with curiosity.

"No! No pity, I don't want your pity," he rips his hand away, and walks forward. Leaving her a bit confused. She catches up again and jogs in front of him, putting her hands on his chest were Rye doesn't rest to stop him,

"I have a basement."

Peeta tries not to notice the dandelion that sits lone in the pile of fluffy grass behind them.

_Hope._

* * *

_Perfect ending right? I had my mind set on letting it end on "I have a basement," sooo yeah :D STAY TUNED _

_REVIEW MY FRIENDS!_


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